Clearances

Summary: Trip compares his own and Malcolm's actions during the events in Singularity and needs to clear the air. First in the 'Turbolift Tales' series – stories/tags/missing scenes set predominately within the turbolift.

A/N - This is my first Star Trek: Enterprise story after a considerable hiatus from NCIS. I surprised myself because I ended up writing Trip and Reed whereas my main interest in the TV show has been the relationship between Archer and Tucker. However I really enjoyed writing this little interaction. Hope you enjoy. Thanks, as always, to Will for the beta.

Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise belongs to CBS and Paramount. No copyright infringement intended.

Clearances

Trip left the bridge and entered the turbolift, the doors sliding shut behind him. Folding his arms he slumped none too delicately back against the wall and briefly closed his eyes as he let his head fall back. They'd been clear of the class 4 black hole within the trinary star system for some time and most of the crew had been cleared for duty following a check-up from Phlox but the mood throughout the ship was subdued to say the least. That they were all embarrassed was an understatement. Even after the Captain's ship-wide announcement that these things happen and that they should concentrate on the job at hand and that no repercussions would come of any unintentional acts of insubordination during their time in the trinary star system. This was, luckily, good news for Rostov.

After what he'd been told the crewman had said to Kelby when he'd been under the influence of the offending radiation Trip hadn't known whether he'd find his trusted assistant in the brig or on a bio bed in sickbay courtesy of Kelby. As it was he'd found him -thankfully before his Lieutenant had- hiding away in one of the Jefferies tubes effecting repairs, embarrassed as hell just keeping out of the Lieutenant's way – keeping his head down. To his credit, Kelby had shrugged the incident off vowed never to mention it again and told Rostov to 'forget it', no doubt eager to keep his own head down. In fact all the crew were going about their business diligently, professionally but just a little too quietly and Trip was no exception. It wasn't right. It wasn't normal. Not that he wanted normal. He didn't. Hell, he didn't know what he wanted. He just knew it wasn't… this.

Trip sighed, swallowing, feeling his cheeks flush with warmth. He knew he shouldn't but he still felt like such an idiot. Of all the things he could have focused his attention on, he'd focused on the Captain's chair. He'd even tried to justify it logically - to T'Pol of all people.

Trip took in the sounds of the turbolift as it moved through the ship and the gentle hum of the life support systems.

Now Malcolm, well he'd done something really useful and Trip couldn't help but feel a little jealous of the man. The new security protocols had saved vital time, brought weapons and hull plating on line instantly. They were efficient, brilliant and had saved all their lives. There was no way in hell that a cup-holder could do that. Or at least no possible way that he could think of – and he could be quite creative when he put his mind to it. Why the hell couldn't he have focused his energy on increasing the efficiency of the warp engines, improving the resilience of the hull plating, boosting the range of the sensors or the transporter… something that would have given them a helping hand, a modicum of use in their ongoing mission? No, he'd focused on the Captain's chair of all things. But that was the last order the Captain had given him before events beyond his control had started to take over. At least that's how Phlox had explained it, and why he'd been so preoccupied with the Captain's damn chair.

"It's quite simple, Commander. The radiation emanating from within the trinary star system increased to such levels where it began to affect your prefrontal cortex in your brain. Essentially you were able to function but lost the ability to rationalise that what you were doing was obsessive. We all did."

Trip sighed, "Okay, but why the chair?"

"It was what you must have been focusing on at the critical moment when the radiation levels hit the therapeutic level for it to have an adverse effect. I would surmise that once this was established it was locked in. You wouldn't have been able to change the focus of your obsession at all. None of us would."

"And the more radiation…"

"The higher the levels, the more it affected you, the more intense the obsession."

"To the point where I… we… lost consciousness."

Phlox nodded. "Or, rather fortunately in my case, was helped along by a certain Vulcan Sub-commander," the doctor replied with some discomfort.

Trip understood his unease, allowing the doctor a moment to regain his composure before continuing, "And once the radiation levels reduced..."

"We regained consciousness. Our obsessions were much reduced. We all returned to normal."

"Normal. Debatable," Trip mused. "What are my levels now?"

"Relax, Commander. I'm not detecting anything in your system," Phlox declared. "You are, for all intents and purposes, fine and cleared for duty."

"Thanks, Doc."

Trip took some comfort from Phlox's words. He'd supposed to have been purging the impulse manifolds and he dreaded to think how that might have turned out. The Captain's chair though, it was just so… insignificant. But the chair had been bothering the Captain. The Captain had asked him, okay gently ordered him, to take a look at the chair and it was his job to make sure the ship and all its individual components were up to scratch and beyond – however insignificant they may seem. As it was, the Captain had seemed happy with the final result although only time would tell whether actually lowering the chair had had the desired beneficial effect. Trip knew the Captain had said it felt totally different but…

The turbolift slowed and the doors opened bringing Trip out of his headspace and back to reality with a jolt. Reed entered and they both exchanged an uncomfortable look. Oh God. Trip swallowed hard. He'd ended up in an argument, scratch that, a fight with Malcolm in the situation room and Archer had had to pull them apart. The enclosed space within the turbolift already made the situation awkward but the continuing silence was making him more uncomfortable by the second. He really didn't want to have this conversation now, hadn't a clue what to say but he didn't like brooding. It wasn't good for him. He had to bite the bullet and clear the air.

Just as he was about to speak, Reed opened his mouth as if to say something then closed his mouth resolutely and plastered a stoic expression on his face. Obviously Malcolm had thought better of it. His armoury officer was having difficulties too. It shouldn't be this difficult. Get it together, Trip. They were friends. Then again maybe that was why it was so difficult. Maybe they could just forget it ever happened. They were friends after all. Friends forgive and forget.

They rode the turbolift together in silence before it came to a stop. Trip pressed the button releasing the doors, grateful as the sound of them opening broke the oppressive silence. He hesitated briefly before stepping out of the turbolift and started to head purposely in the direction of engineering. Yes, forget it ever happened. He walked a couple of paces before stopping.

Forget, but what about forgive. Friends had to forgive first.

Trip turned back. The doors were already closing but Trip lunged forwards his outstretched arm halting the lift.

Reed had caught the movement through the corner of his field of vision and hit the button. The doors opened fully allowing Trip through.

They looked directly at each other.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm" he blurted out as Reed voiced his own concurrent apology. After a beat both men visibly relaxed. Trip leaned back against the turbolift wall and sighed. "We've both said and done things in the past 48 hours that we'd rather forget."

"Agreed," Reed concurred. "It got pretty heated back there. We were lucky the Captain broke us up before I did any damage."

"Before you did any damage," Trip interrupted, unable to keep his voice from raising a notch in volume and his posture stiffening in defence. "I can hold my own, Malcolm."

"I know you can, Sir…"

Trip eased off when he saw Reed shifting uncomfortably unsure whether to go on or not. The voice that continued barely a beat later was low but matter of fact.

"…but I'm trained to be better."

Trip let Malcolm's words sink in. Of course his tactical and armoury officer was right. Trip may have started the fight but Malcolm would have finished it. "Well I guess we'll never know," he countered. Who was he trying to kid? "Besides, we weren't really thinking straight."

"Actually, Commander, it probably wouldn't have made a difference."

"Come again, Malcolm?" Trip huffed, exasperated at Reed's dismissal of his own obvious attempt to save face.

"Whether we were thinking straight or not… it's muscle memory," Reed stated matter of fact and tapping his temple.

"Right," Trip said, fixing Reed's eyes with his. After a moment he dropped his gaze from Malcolm and exhaled deeply, knowing he was beaten but not ready to admit it out loud. Malcolm had a way of being able to put him in his place whilst being both infuriatingly polite and most importantly correct.

"Look, I don't know about you, Sir. Trip. But could we draw a line under all this. Just forget it. Like you said, we weren't really thinking straight."

Trip smiled, softening at Malcolm's use of formality and friendship in the same sentence implying his friend's sudden realisation that he'd taken his superior officer down a peg or two, however intentional or unintentional it had been. "Sounds good to me, Malcolm," he stated pausing briefly before continuing hesitantly, "So… we okay?"

Malcolm nodded firmly. "I believe we are."

"I'd better get back to engineerin'," Trip stated hitting the button to open the doors. "Got a few apologies to make. Where you headin'?"

"Bridge. The Captain asked me to work on the alarm for the new tactical alert. I've got a few ideas I want to run past him."

"Great. No cats I hope," he teased, chuckling at the Pavlovian groan it drew from the man stood in front of him.

Trip hesitated and then leaned forward to push the button to close the doors that had just opened. He waited until they'd closed before continuing. "Listen, Malcolm," Trip made sure his voice had just a hint of the command tone that Malcolm appreciated. "That was nice work on the security protocols. From what I heard your actions saved all our skins. You did good. Real good."

"Thank you, Sir, but I was…"

Trip held up his palm stopping Reed mid-sentence and sought out his eyes with his own. He lowered his hand noting he had Reed's full attention. "As I said, you did good," he stated slowly but firmly, watching closely as Malcolm finally nodded accepting the compliment.

"Okay then," Trip breezed, replacing his command tone of voice with one of friendship. "Meet you later. Mess hall. Nineteen hundred hours." It was, however, a tone that would not take 'No' for an answer. "I'm buying."

"Trip, I… You're buying?"

"Figure of speech. Damn it, Malcolm! I'm trying to make it up to you here. We can hardly go down the 602 club can we? It's the best I can do on this ship." Lowering his voice he continued, "Look I know where Chef keeps his stash of bourbon, even a couple of bottles of really good scotch if you like and he owes me." At Reed's puzzled look Trip ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck absent-mindedly. "We have an understandin'," he continued, winking at Reed. "Maybe I'll let you in on our little understandin' later?"

"Nineteen hundred hours, you say."

Trip nodded. Malcolm was beginning to waiver. "Mess hall and then my quarters," he continued. "Just between us, okay. Wouldn't want certain people knowing about Chef's stash." Trip knew full well he already had his friend and tactical officer with the prospect of a little mystery and intrigue but he pressed him anyway. "C'mon, Malcolm." He only had to wait a beat before he watched Reed blow out a deep breath, caving.

"Fine, okay. I need to get to the Bridge."

Trip smiled. "You sure we're okay?"

"We're fine. Go. Haven't you got more apologies to make?"

Trip raised his eyebrows. He didn't need the reminder. His friend however took the opportunity to continue on mercilessly as Trip pressed the button to open the doors to the turbolift.

"Just how many people did you end up sparring with the other day, Commander?" Malcolm asked mischievously.

"You know we could always forget the mess hall," Trip countered in a mock warning tone, "and go to the Gym instead. Find out exactly who would have won that little fight we started the other day."

"Mess hall will be fine."

Trip chuckled as he stepped out of the turbolift and headed in the direction of engineering. He could feel Malcolm's gaze on his back, sense the smirk building, heard the button being pressed for the bridge and then the unmistakable British accent of the armoury officer coming from the turbolift as the doors started to slide shut.

"I would have knocked you on your arse, Commander. And you know it."

The End